Chapter 2: Old arguments
"Do you understand?" the old man asked urgently.
"of course we do you nimrod, elst we wouldn't have risked our lives to procure it!" the tall slender woman angrily retorted.
The old man, who went by Drermod, looked up sharply and shouted at the woman, "Ohall, I know you understand what you can get out of this book, but do you understand what it could do to this world? Do you understand that it is worth more than the pitiful use you grant it?" They were reviving an old argument.
"More than the pitiful use I grant it?" Ohall shouted back, "the pitiful use I grant it is going to save your pathetic and pitiful life. If you weren't family I would just leave you for dead!"
"But you could save me while using this for so much more!" Drermod shouted back. Then, with a crazed glint in his eye, he lept up, hobbled forward, clasped Ohalls shoulders and softly pleaded, "Please let us use it to return to our rightful place."
Ohall stared at Drermods crazed look, wondered at his futile eagerness to seek revenge, searched his decrepit face (full of ancient scars and deep wrinkles), smelled his rank and repulsive breath, and pulled away with disgust. "WE CANNOT RETURN!" she shouted at Drermod, pushing him of her shoulders and striding to the door. "You lost the right for that before I was even born. Do you not understand that there no longer is a rightful place for us to return to. You destroyed that place in you hopeless effort to control it. WE HAVE NO PLACE LEFT TO RETURN TO!"
Drermod stared at her fuming for a second then, ever so softly, interjected with, "As long as our land is there we will always have a place." Ohall swiftly turned her face to stare directly into Drermods eyes and with a furious and dangerous tone softly stated, "Understand this father, we have no land any longer. Camelot is dead. You're selfish quest killed it. You too should be dead, I should be dead, it is only because of the curse you brought down upon us that you and I remain alive. If you seek to yet again resurrect that land you will finally die. You've already destroyed your immortal body in this attempt, it will last no longer."
Then Ohall turned to exit the dank room, stopping right before the door to turn around and say to her father, "have that done by morning, I'll be back for it then." As she exited the room her four associates appeared from its dark shadows and followed her out. As soon as they were well down the hallway Drermord shouted, "maybe I'll just take the book and do it myself." For a while he heard nothing and derived some grim satisfaction from this silence, until he heard a faint whisper wafting back from the front of the room. His smile fell as he heard, "you know as well as I that the second you step from this building her and her ilk will be upon you and you'll be dead. You are now living life without your old friend magic."
Outside Ohall breathed in the dank filth of the air, feeling the bad humors envelope her. At least it was better than the rank medicinal smell of her fathers shop. The filthy streets of this city were crowded with the worst of the Saxons inhabiting Danelaw. She looked around at the criminals and vagabonds inhabiting this godforsaken corner of what had once been a beautiful, orderly, and united island. Maybe her father was right, Ohall thought, maybe they could bring back the beauty and magic of the past days, reinstate the glorious days of yore. It seemed that nothing worthwhile was left in this place, just days of endless suffering and monotony, punctuated only by the occasional Viking raid and surge of Britons led by the Bretwalda. Eventually the current Bretwalda, Edward, would again unite this land, but Ohalla doubted that the land would ever again be seeped in the sorcery, magic, and beauty whose tail end she witnessed in her youth. Life at this point seemed desperate and pointless enough that she was tempted by her fathers offer.